Today I vent

I know myself well enough to know when to expect a mood.  I have warned the husband that this week could be a rough one for me.  

A part of me feels like I shouldn’t rant, whine or complain, because we have been blessed this year beyond measure, but this week I’m mad and guess what, I have every right to be and every right to share it as I need.

I’m angry at circumstances out of my control but I’m even madder on behalf of my daughter, who has no idea what storms are still raging around her.

I’m disappointed because six months ago I thought things would sail smoothly and this week would mark the end of a time requirement and that next week we could finally be done with it and officially be forever and always together.

I’m irritated because I have things I want to talk about and share, posts I’ve already written and more on my mind, that have to be postponed to a not-yet-determined time. I worry that those I have shared skate too close to a line of confidentiality.

I’m pissed because the system that is supposed to protect children and put them first is broken. We were forced to take classes and become certified over and beyond what we had to do to adopt X & S, and even though those classes say “children have a right to a family. Parenting is a privilege”, it isn’t really true. 

Stupid adults who make bad choice after bad choice get chance after chance after bloody chance, paid for by those of us who work hard, pay taxes and have to take care of our own issues, while children who lack voices are really only a number on a piece of paper and their resolution is slow coming.

Children are something a fortunate group have an easy time creating and then treat as property they own because of biology or because they pulled a fast one over on the system, but yet they don’t worship, care for or protect the gifts that those of us who desperately want babies aren’t able to create in our bodies. Those adults who refuse to do the right thing and instead cling to their selfish desires rather than thinking about what is in the best interest of the child.

We “broken” infertile ones have to complete mountains of paperwork, consent to have our entire lives scrutinized under a microscope, change our schedules at the drop of a hat and be at the mercy of those who have to check off requirements and make monthly visits.

I believe deep in my soul that this too shall pass and that God is leading the way, but after all the crazy things that have occurred in 2016, I’m having a harder and harder time pushing that minuscule what-if possibility into the locked away recessed part of my brain.

Too many times in the past I brushed off my feelings or didn't write them down. I convinced myself I should only document the happy or the joyful. And there is much of that here too.

But today I vent and let it go...